


freedom! (i won't let you down)

by The_Doom_Dahlia



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, F/F, F/M, HIV/AIDS, M/M, Marijuana, Music Festival, NO DEATH, References to Homophobia, Trucker Lingo, brooke and heather are cordelia's proteges, former child stars whizzer and cordelia, jason's ten and living his best life tbh, marvin's kind of an asshole, mendel's a nerd, orpheus is the sugar fangs's touring bassist, real world music references, references and characters from other musicals forthcoming, st. jimmy plays drums, the tight knit family are almost all musicians, trina's doing her best, whizzer's living with HIV in this universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Doom_Dahlia/pseuds/The_Doom_Dahlia
Summary: the rosencrantz family band takes a trip to california for their first (and if marvin has his way, last) music festival. it turns out a lot can happen in just a week, especially when feelings get involved.title from 'freedom! '90' by george michael





	1. on the road again

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to too much steeleye span and scissor sisters and this seemed like a good idea so here you go

Mendel, for all his meekness and social anxiety, had been fervent about getting them into the Lucky Moon Music Festival. He’d described it like it was some oasis in the desert - lucrative and fun all at once. Jason, of course, had jumped at the chance to go see what a place like Death Valley looked like up close. Trina, while nervous as always, believed wholeheartedly that maybe the change of scenery and new experience might help them write for the next album.

Marvin, however, had had a bad feeling living in his stomach for the last two weeks and the whole idea seemed to fit his apocalyptic dreams perfectly.

“We don’t need this.” he repeated, practically a broken record as their little RV rumbled down the interstate towards California. They were the tail-end of their two car caravan, Mendel leading them in the truck with the roadies, tour band, and the gear, and every time he saw the dinky little ‘coexist’ bumper sticker he felt a new flush of anger. “Who goes to the desert to hear folk music?”

“Marvin, stop it.” Trina scolded, glaring at him from her perch across from their son. She was halfway through a chess session and losing badly. “Look, I don’t know how well this is going to go either but maybe it’ll help us with writing.”

“We’re doing fine with writing.”

“We haven’t written a new song in six months, Marvin. We can’t do a covers album, I’m not ready for that phase yet!”

“Oh c’mon, you don’t wanna play Stevie Nicks? Should we grab you some scarves at the next Rite Aid we see?” He smirked snidely.

“Checkmate.” Jason piped up, eager to break up the stalemate between his parents. “Do you think we’ll see a cow skull? If we do, can I take it home?”

“We’ll see.” Trina said in that simpering, polite voice she used when she really meant ‘no way’. “Are you excited to see California?”

“Yeah.” Jason grinned. A beaming ten year-old whose right fang tooth had fallen out the night before they started the journey, the kid was in that transition period of life where shame and embarrassment began to rear its ugly head more and more. Some was there, growing day by day, but he still wore the family band’s logo on his shirt - converted to a tank top for the heat of the West Coast - with a little bit of pride.

The Rosencrantz Family Band had been going for ten years when Marvin joined through marriage. He hadn’t truly wanted to, at first, but when the band and family came hand-in-hand, your fiancee's father was breathing down your neck, and the fiancee in question was three months pregnant, you adapt. He found some skill as a tenor and with the guitar and made his place in the band. Years of marriage, music, and near-misery later, the band was just him, Trina, and a carousel of touring and studio musicians since her parents retired after one last tour. He’d grown, by degrees, to hate most of the songs he’d been playing for nearly a decade now. Singing them left a bad taste in his mouth, especially the love songs and duets. It all felt so fake.

There was a sudden burst of static from the walkie-talkie at Trina’s hip and it broke him from his reverie. Focusing on the road once more, he listened idly as she clicked the talk button and began speaking.

“Hello?”

“Bluebell and Co, what’s your status?” Mendel’s voice crackled over the device, clearly trying to sound like a trucker. His voice waved a little, like he was nervous, but that could have just been the walkie-talkie itself.

Trina laughed a little at her ‘call sign’. “We’re doing fine, Mendel. How’re things up there?”

“10-2, good neighbor! How’s the Lone Wolf?”

“Jason’s fine. You wanna say hi to Mendel, son?”

Jason took the walkie-talkie from his mother. “Radio check, good buddy, do you copy?”

Mendel laughed. “10-4, good buddy! We’re thinking about stopping at the next gas station. I need to talk to your dad. You think your mom would mind if I got you some snacks?”

Turning to his mother and smiling as she rolled her eyes fondly and nodded, Jason answered “It’s all good!”

“10-4! Hand me back over to Bluebell!”

Trina took the walkie-talkie back, thanking her son silently as he set up the chess board again. “We’ll see you soon, Mendel.”

“See you soon! Over and out!” There was another burst of static, then silence. 

Trina rose, coming over to Marvin. “We’re stopping at a gas-.”

“I heard you.” Marvin said, waving her away. He barely blinked at her scoff as she walked back over to their son. Honestly, he just wanted to get this done and over with. He squinted into the distance and cursed Mendel again for coming up with this bullshit idea. He just hoped it was worth it.

* * *

“How’re you feeling?” Mendel asked, sitting at the little table in the RV’s heart with a pen and paper in hand. Trina and Jason had gone into the gas station, giving Marvin and Mendel time to talk. “I know you’re not really up for this whole thing-.”

“Oh, was I that obvious?” Marvin said, clearly bitter as he swirled his water bottle around and wished it was something with more punch behind it. 

“ _But_ ,” Mendel began, cutting him off before he could continue. “I want to thank you for going along with it anyway. I promise, this is gonna be great for you. For all of us, in more ways than one. Great exposure, good money, and maybe it’ll help with the record. Besides, it’ll be fun!” he smiled, swinging an arm in a ‘We can do it’ gesture. His eyes flashed brightly and Marvin felt bile rise in his throat. He was too chipper, like a goddamn wind-up doll. But he did a good enough job as a manager and Jason liked him, so he stuck around.

“I’m telling you, Mendel,” Marvin began. “No one’s gonna come to see us. No one goes to the desert for fucking _folk_ music.” he grumbled, tapping a finger on the table for emphasis.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t try.” Mendel insisted, and fished a flyer from his pocket. He handed it over, explaining that it showed all the acts performing at the festival. “Take a look! You might find someone you’ll want to see.” he said, and rose. “I’m gonna get back in the truck. See you when we reach Cali!” he whooped, leaving Marvin alone with his thoughts.

Marvin scanned over the names of bands and artists, noting the few bands he actually knew and the family band’s name on the fourth tier of performers for the second day, and stopped at one. He mouthed it out for a few times before speaking aloud. “The fuck kind of name is Whiz Kid and the Sugar Fangs?” he asked to himself. The question whirled in his brain, almost sewing the band name to his frontal lobe as his wife and son returned and Trina took her shift at the wheel. It was still there, strange and unique, as he began playing chess with Jason.

He’d need to see them to believe them, he supposed, and pulled the window shade down as the sun burned in his eyes. Either way, it’d be a long week.


	2. world of two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter whiz kid and the sugar fangs
> 
> or 
> 
> a gay guy and his lesbian best friend/instrumentalist get high and sappy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everybody say hi to whizzer and cordelia

“You can’t take pills dry, it’ll hurt your throat.”

“I could make so many jokes right now, it’s not even funny.”

Whizzer smiled as Cordelia hunched at the waist a little, trying to stifle her own giggles so she wouldn’t boost his ego. The two had holed up in his room after making it to their hotel, splitting part of one of the edibles Delia’d brought along and basking in the glory of their first music festival. It didn’t hit him as hard as it hit her, it never did, but he’d still held her hand when she suddenly began sniffling and tearing up. “You good, buddy?” he asked, almost laughing as he pulled his leather jacket closer around him. She always started crying when she got high, wiping at her eyes and apologizing for no reason at all. He always worried but never minded.

“We did it, Whiz.” she murmured, getting a little choked up. “We’re making something out of this. It’s not,” she took a hiccuping breath. “It’s not just some stupid plan.”

His smile grew less joking and more fond as he squeezed her hand. “We sure are, firefly. We’re goin’ all the way to number one, all over again, and this time there’s nothing to tell us to stop.” he told her, laughing a little as she bumped her head into his shoulder and hugged onto him tightly.

This wasn’t the pair’s first brush with fame. For much of their formative years they’d starred together in a cheesier-than-pizza supernatural dramedy called ‘Moonglow Canyon’, and they’d become teen idols: Whizzer Brown and Deedee Mullins, hand-in-hand, teen magazine cuties turned all too quickly into tabloid fodder. While they were far more fortunate than other teen stars, the experience had still been all too much all at once. The cancellation of the show had been a blessing, both of them fading into obscurity almost as quickly as they got onto the scene.

Whizzer had spent the years after the show in college, taking photography classes until he got his degree and exploring the sexuality he’d only started coming to terms with in the final season when the show had dared to tread into the realm of gay characters. He’d done his best to stay safe, the haunting voice of the show’s youth liaison following him like a dark cloud and encouraging chastity until he ‘found the right girl’. Still, life doesn’t always turn out the way you want it to.

He’d been HIV positive for the past ten years, taking his medication and doing every step he could to live with the disease. His first brushes back into the world of fame were as an advocate on a safe sex campaign through the theater company he now taught classes with on the side. The craving for stardom didn’t come this time, but he began finding some renewed interest in returning to the musical side he’d found in Billy Jo Hutchinson, the pockmarked werewolf he’d played in the show. After all, he was a jack of all trades: why not test if he still had the goods?

That was when Delia came into his life again.

Deedee was a lot braver than Whizzer had been. Like him, the final season had made her realize that she was gay as a rainbow lark. Unlike him, she’d come out as soon as she knew it. The last nine episodes had been miserable without her, her family pulling her out of the show and out of their lives as soon as they knew. 

Where Whizzer’s star had just faded, hers had gone supernova. The news got ahold of the truth about her and the nineties hadn’t been kind. Most people believed that it was her openness that had forced the network’s hand, cutting the show off of their ‘family-friendly’ network. They were willing to talk about gay characters but unwilling to walk the walk in supporting gay actors. Deedee’s publicist had tried to help her but the industry that had made her who she was blackballed her and threw her to the wolves.

Melted down to her core, she shed Deedee Mullins off like a snake’s skin and left Hollywood behind. Taking her given name back and using her grandmother’s maiden name, Cordelia Weaver found a home in the culinary arts. She’d become a baker out in Maine as the new millenium dawned, and started taking classes in music. Unwilling to stick to one instrument, she’d become a jack of all trades like him and began leaving business cards with her Beatport (and, eventually, Bandcamp) link on them with the goodies she delivered.

He’d found her again like that, the card tossed aside to him in Augusta where he’d flown to photograph a particularly pricey wedding. The phone number on it had been tried that same night and the rest of it had been spent excitedly catching up, as had brunch the next morning. It took only a few days for them to have a jam session in Cordelia’s apartment. Just like that, Whiz Kid and the Sugar Fangs were born, a band Pitchfork had called a ‘wild-eyed mix of Passion Pit, Mother Mother, and MIKA’s most sugary nightmares’.

Sure the name was a misnomer, but if Marina could get away with it so could they.

Whizzer pulled away from the hug a little, giving Delia a quick noogie before releasing her fully. “C’mon, we should probably get showers before we go out to find dinner.”

She nodded, getting up. “But first,” she crooked an arm around his neck and pulled him close before calling out “Selfie!” and picking up her phone. Their eyes twinkled as she snapped the photo of them grinning like fools. She posted it onto their band Twitter, @ing him before leaving him alone to bask in the glory alone.

He picked up his own phone, scrolling idly for a bit before a notification popped up that confused him.

_Marvin Rosencrantz has liked a tweet you were tagged in!_

Looking over the profile picture (a bit depressed-gym-teacher-chic but not bad), then the bio (‘Father of one, half of Rosencrantz family band.’), Whizzer couldn’t help but ask a question that jabbed at him, speaking it out loud as though the Popeil commercial on the tv could answer him.

“Who the fuck is Marvin Rosencrantz?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you next chapter have a good night


	3. doctor, doctor or new kid in town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charlotte enters the picture and marvin and whizzer see each other in real life for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i live
> 
> also there's a lot of musical references so this is now kind of a crossover fic

Contempt settled in every inch of Marvin’s face as he looked at the breakfast laid out before him. The scrambled eggs were rubbery, the coffee tasted like burnt pencil shavings, and the blueberry muffin he’d grabbed made a noise like stone when he tapped it against the edge of the table. He figured he should have expected as much from a motel buffet, but damn if it wasn’t disgusting. 

Gazing up at his wife and son across the table from him, something in him eased just a little. The two had grabbed the cereal cups — Lucky Charms for Jason and Cheerios for Trina — being less bold than him. While Jason wolfed down his food, Trina’s eyes were turned to Mendel. Disappointment peeked through her gaze. “Mendel, how can you drink those things? It’s seven AM!”

“For you.” Mendel grumbled, slumped a little in his seat. The man looked like he hadn’t seen a bed in months. “I’m still running off east coast time.” he confessed, and drank deep from the lilac energy drink can he clutched in both hands.

Trina just sighed and sipped her coffee. “Don’t drink too many of those, I’m not mothering you. I already have enough with these two.”

While Jason laughed a little, Marvin just scowled. “Mendel, remind me again why we’re up this early?” he asked.

“We’re meeting with the Head Medical Technician for the festival. She’s gonna debrief you about medical procedure and have you all sign waivers. You’ll like her! She used to be a musician, retired a while ago to become a doctor.” Mendel explained, eyes still sleepy and half-lidded. 

“How noble!” Trina chirped. “Reminds me of you, Marvin.”

“Yeah, except I did the exact reverse.”

“You know what I mean, don’t get testy.”

“I’m not getting ‘testy’, you’re just getting mean.”

Sensing a growing argument and getting tense, Jason looked around for some relief before looking at his father. “Dad, I wanna see the pool. Can you go with me?”

Marvin blinked in surprise. “Uh, sure Jay.” he said. After putting a lid on his coffee, he walked behind Jason to the pool area. It was empty, save for a couple stressed out looking teenagers in video game themed swim trunks climbing in. He could hear talk of something called the ‘Apocalypse of the Damned’ coming in past the crooning of a voice asking if his lover liked Pina Coladas.

“Are you and mom okay?” Jason asked out of the blue, looking at the empty pool with bored eyes.

The question made Marvin wince internally. “...yeah, Jay, we’re fine. Why do you ask?”

“You guys sure argue a lot.”

“Sometimes couples in love do that, son.”

The boy gagged. “Chess is better than love.” he said matter-of-factly, even nodding in agreement with himself. 

Marvin chuckled, ruffling Jason’s hair. “We’ll see what you think when you’re my age, buddy. We should get back though. Your mom will have my head if we don’t sign those waivers.” he explained. Stuffing both hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts (the ones Trina despised but worked well for the California sun), he walked off with his son.

“I’ll go swimming later.” Jason nodded to himself again, and took off ahead.

His father walked leisurely, not in any rush to get back to his wife. Marvin watched his son with pride. The kid was growing like a weed and he couldn’t help but feel good about his future. Jason made his doom feel just a little lighter. Even if his marriage with Trina was flat as a lake, Jason existed and that made it all worth it.

When he got back to the table, Trina was getting Jason settled back in. “Did you have fun seeing the pool?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go swimming later!”

“Well, you’ll need to wait a while, I don’t want you getting cramps.” Trina said, pressing a little kiss to Jason’s forehead as the boy went back to wolfing down his food. “Marvin, Mendel and I were talking and he said we should all have a meeting tonight about songwriting. We need to write something here.” she reminded him.

Marvin was about to respond, something about how tired he was getting with her poking at him about it, when a voice called Mendel’s name across the room. He nudged in with a grumble as his manager — still in his goddamn pajamas, because _of fucking course_ — nudged by him to go greet their new guest. The drink wasn’t doing much for him yet, it appeared.

The new face at their ‘family breakfast’ was, as introduced by Mendel, Doctor Charlotte Dubois. Marvin recognized her name, she’d put out a few jazz records as a teenager before slipping out of the limelight. This was apparently where she’d been all these years. She was respectably dressed and spoke gracefully, but Marvin could see a tattooed star in pale yellow against her dark skin. The conservative that screamed away in his skull winced at it, but he just smiled and shook her hand. Once introductions were over, she took a chair from a nearby table and settled in with them.

“So, I need to give you all the usual safety rundown but I figured I should know something other than your medical histories. Is this your first music festival?”

Trina nodded. “First and maybe last.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” Charlotte offered. “Sure, this one’s a little ramshackle but there’s something here. Something special. What kind of music do you play?”

“Folk.” Marvin offered. The fact that the doctor visibly resisted the urge to laugh made him internally scream. “It’s a family band thing. Is this gonna be your return to the stage?” he asked, wanting to push her buttons for no real reason at all. 

Charlotte laughed a little, mostly humorlessly, and waved away the notion. “I’m strictly behind the scenes now.” She turned towards Jason and smiled gently. “Do you like riding around with your parents, Jason?” She didn’t even blink when he rambled to her about how he was excited to see Death Valley and how he’d brought his chessboard with him, even offering to play a game with him sometime before launching into her safety speech.

Marvin’s eyes nearly glazed over as he tuned her out. His gaze turned to anything else it could: the buzzing lights above his head, the tacky decor featuring grinning lizards and armadillos with sunglasses around him, the remnants of the breakfast he was sure would make him sick. He knew what he was doing, he didn’t need to be lectured. Finally, others entered and his gaze turned to them.

It was a small mob, one that made him blink in confusion at first. A blonde about his age, accompanied by a younger blonde all in yellow and a girl who looked around the same age with a Pinkberry tank top and a headscarf. Then a clearly hungover young punk who stumbled, pins gleaming in the light, to the coffee machine like it was an oasis. Finally, there was a lean, overeager looking dude with a guitar strapped to his back, babbling words Marvin couldn’t make out just yet to the-.

 _Oh. To the best looking man he’d ever seen._

As Marvin allowed himself to look over the man (clearly a baseball player, amazing smile, slight hints of a receding hairline), a realization hit him: it was the Whiz Kid, Whizzer Brown. That must have meant that these were the ‘Sugar Fangs’ he’d read about (yeah, he’d done research, so what?). He listed them off in his head; the golden retriever like boy was Orpheus Mitchell, a wunderkind whose reputation was squeaky clean, the frustrated punk muffledly cursing at the coffee maker was James Culpepper — St. Jimmy to his friends and enemies alike — whose reputation was as clear as mud and who didn’t care a thing about it, and the girls with the band’s manager/keyboardist/main backup singer Cordelia Weaver were her proteges Heather McNamara (the disowned daughter of Eddie McNamara, owner of McNamara Jewelers) and Brooke Lohst (former child star laid low by time and a stress induced case of alopecia, only to surge back with the band). Then there was Whizzer, formerly as big as Neil Patrick Harris and now just as gay and hardworking. The band settled in at a corner booth and Marvin envied how happy and calm they all looked.

The sound of paper hitting the table in front of him made Marvin pay attention. There was the health waiver, three pages long. “All you need to do is sign and you’ll be all good to play.” Charlotte explained, taking a few pens out of her pocket. Trina and Jason signed quickly (Jason’s waiver was signed by Trina too, just to make it all safe and legal), but Marvin looked down at his waiver in silence. 

“C’mon, Marv.” Trina urged, hissing a little.

Marvin looked at the other band in the corner and felt his heart speed up as he caught Whizzer looking back at him. The other man smiled, slow and easy, right at him.

That smile hung in Marvin’s mind like a fading Cheshire cat as he signed the waiver and Charlotte left them all alone to get ready. He didn’t know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, next chapter will be this but in whizzer's POV


End file.
